"It is Ty; anybody ought to recognize that old red sweater of his," Elmer announced; "and he's got a fine stone bruise on his foot, if that limp means anything!"
The contestant stepped out of the road as they drew near. He stiffened up to salute, game to the last, and chasing away the look of pain that had been on his boyish face.
One of his shoes was held in his hand, and he had been walking along in this way, determined not to give up until the last gasp.
"Better throw up the sponge, Ty," called Elmer, who had the authority to order anyone out of the race who in his judgment was unfit to continue further.
Ty's face told that he welcomed this command, as it released him from all further responsibility, and he could retire with good grace.
"What'd I better do, Elmer?" he called out.
"Station four just ahead; stay there to-night. Some one come for you in morning!" the scout leader shouted back.
"All right, I will. Hello! Toby, and you ditto, Nat. Who's winning? That fast Fairfield fellow, Wagner, passed me a long time ago, going strong."
"Oh, Lil Artha is miles ahead of him!" replied Nat.
"Hurrah for the pride of Hickory Ridge troop! Bully for Lil Artha!" they heard Jack whoop as they sped onward.